The Light Bringers
by PhoenixCrystal
Summary: A young woman arrives at the BPRD, claiming that Professor Broom asked her to come there and join their ranks. Unfortunately, there's no way to ask him if this is true... Will this young woman change anything? Will she affect anyone? Not a good summary
1. Prologue: The Rest is Silence

Hello! I am PhoenixCrystal, and it is a pleasure to be writing for this section. This is the fourth story I've published on , but I haven't finished any of the others yet… Hopefully, I will finish this one, and at least one of the others, as well!

I've been working on this story for a while, but I haven't posted it before this because I wanted to make sure I could get into it. It's fun for me to write, so I hope you enjoy reading it at least half as much. The main body of the story (meaning the real first chapter and on) starts about a month after the first movie, and continues on all the way through the second movie and beyond. I even have an idea for a sequel… but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'm going to post the first chapter right after this, because this prologue is a little strange. Hopefully, being able to read the first chapter as well will convince you to continue reading! Thank you for choosing this story.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hellboy movies. Or the comics, for that matter, but I'm not basing my story on them…

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Prologue: The Rest is Silence

She ran down the alley as fast as she could, desperately calling for him. She knew that she had to find him before their attacker did, because, while she wasn't in much danger from it, he was extremely vulnerable to it. Her voice grew more and more frenzied as she begged him to answer her. She dashed around a corner… and there he was, collapsed on the ground with their attacker lying beside him. She ran to him, preparing to fight the attacker, but he gasped, "It's all right. It's dead."

"Are you all right?" she cried, kneeling beside him and grabbing his hand from where it lay limply across his chest. This action revealed what was under his hand, and answered her question more fully than words ever could have. His chest was covered with lacerations, and just where his hand had been there was an extremely deep wound, almost like a hole bored into him. "No!" she whispered in horror.

"It got me just before I killed it," he murmured, "I'm sorry."

"We have to do something!" she wailed, putting her hands on his chest as though to stop the torrent of blood that was rushing out of him. He grabbed her hands and held them tight.

"There's nothing we can do," he said, "You know that. I'm going to die."

"No!" she repeated, but she sobbed as she said it, for she knew he was right.

"Yes," he said firmly. He gasped suddenly, and his body went rigid.

"No, please!" she cried, "Please don't die! Don't leave me here alone!" His body relaxed as the wave of pain passed over him, and he gave her a slight smile.

"It won't be so bad," he told her, "You'll forget me soon. We only had a few hours anyway."

"But…" she whispered, her mind filling with this horror, "You won't be here when I come back… What will I do without you?"

"You'll be fine," he murmured, "I know you. You'll come up with something." They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, then she whimpered, "I'm afraid…"

"Don't be," he breathed, "Everything's going to be all right…" And then the light went out of his eyes. He was dead.

She stared down at his body for a few seconds, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Then she burst into a violent storm of sobs, and she flung herself down on him and buried her face in his bloody chest. She had no idea how long she lay like this, until suddenly she felt something inside of her change. She sat up, her eyes widening as she realized that the moment had come. She was going to forget, to forget everything that had ever happened to her… to forget him. She wanted to fight it, but she knew that there was nothing she could do. She gripped his hand tightly, his cold, unresponsive hand, and murmured a phrase that came unbidden into her mind:

"The rest is silence…"

As soon as these words passed her lips, she collapsed forward onto his body, and all memory faded into nothingness…

* * *

I know it's odd, but I don't want you to understand exactly what happened yet… Plus, odd is fun! The quote, for those of you who don't know, is from the end of Hamlet.

I love reviews! It's a facet of my personality; they help me write better. You can either 1) Review now, then go on and read the real first chapter, or 2) Go on and read the real first chapter, and then review for both it and this. As long as you review at some point, I am satisfied! Thanks again for reading!


	2. Chapter One: Arrival at the BPRD

Hi! Thanks for deciding to continue reading this story.

This is the real first chapter of the story. My OC shows up, and the plot gets going…. sort of. You know how first chapters are… Hopefully you will find it interesting. It's exciting for me, since I've been wanting to get this story up for a while… *sighs happily* A dream realized…

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Hellboy movies. But I do own my OC.

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Chapter One: Arrival at the BPRD

She stood looking at the building through the gates before her, comparing it to the description given to her. The site of the building was in the correct location, and its odd design fit with the description: several cylindrical buildings of various heights put together to form one building, with a large flaming torch out front. Looking over at the pillar on the left side of the gates revealed that even the designation of the building was the one given to her: Waste Management Facility. She couldn't help smiling at this name, for she knew that it was a disguise for a much more interesting place. As instructed, she walked over to this left-hand pillar. A complicated intercom system was built into the side of it. She examined the large number of buttons before her; then, after a careful probing of her memory to make sure she was pressing the one she'd been told to, she pushed one of the buttons.

"Hello?" she said into the intercom speaker, "Is someone there?"

"What do you want?" The answering voice was harsh, suspicious.

"Ah, there is someone!" she said, feeling relieved that she hadn't been talking to an empty room somewhere. "Um…" Now that it came time for her to explain, she felt nervous. She swallowed hard; then continued. "My name is Cynthia Livingstone. Professor Trevor Bruttenholm asked me to come here; I wonder if I might come in and speak with him?" There was a pause before the person on the other end spoke.

"He's not here," the person said abruptly.

"Oh." Cynthia felt a twinge of worry, but then she remembered something. "He did say he would leave instructions for what to do with me if I came when he wasn't here."

"Did he really?" The person—Cynthia thought it might be a male, but it was hard to tell through the crackly intercom—sounded bored and disbelieving.

"Yes." Cynthia thought over the instructions quickly before relaying them. "You're supposed to do a retinal scan on me, and some sort of file should pop up on your computer. The file contains information about me and a password, which I am supposed to say to you." Cynthia paused, wondering if she'd forgotten anything. After a second, she realized that she had. "Oh, and I'm also supposed to tell you before you do the retinal scan that I know what this place really is."

"Oh, yeah?" the man on the other end said sarcastically, "So what is it?" Cynthia took a deep breath before answering:

"This is the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, U.S.A. Division."

After Cynthia's words came a pause so long that, for a moment, she wondered if the man had turned off the intercom. A second after this thought, however, the man said, "Ok. Let's take a peek at those retinas of yours." The panel containing the speaker and buttons flipped over, revealing a sophisticated-looking piece of technology, part of which extended out towards Cynthia. She had been warned about this, so she didn't jump at its sudden movement. "Put your eye up by the scanner," the man instructed.

"I know how to do it," Cynthia said, quiet impatience in her voice, but she changed her position so that her right eye was directly in front of the scanner. The scanner sent a pulse of light into her eye, swiveled its mechanism so that a secondary scanner took its place in front of her, and repeated the light pulse. When it was finished, the scanner retracted once more, leaving Cynthia blinking at the brightness of its scan. "Did anything come up?" she asked, wiping her watering eye.

"Yeah," the man said, sounding surprised, "It's just like you said, a file about you. But you still have to tell me what the password is."

"Is it a part of the file?" Cynthia queried.

"Yes." The man's edgy tone had come back; Cynthia guessed that he was hoping she'd fail this last test so that he wouldn't have to let her in. She smiled, knowing he was about to be disappointed.

"All right, then," she said calmly, "The password is, 'In the absence of light, darkness prevails.'" It was several seconds before the man spoke.

"That's correct," he said, sounding annoyed, "I'm going to send someone out there to escort you in." There was a loud crackling sound, and the intercom went dead and returned to its original appearance.

Cynthia turned around to lean against the pillar. She put her head back against it and sighed.

_Well, at least I've been deemed acceptable to enter,_ she thought, _I wonder who they're sending to come and get me? _She smiled to herself. _Surely not one of their special agents. They couldn't possibly think that it will require that much to escort me. Unless 'escort' means something else, here._ Cynthia smiled wider, closing her eyes and enjoying the soft warmth that the sun had given to the pillar. _Of course, if I __wanted__ to cause a disturbance or infiltrate this place for some reason, a special agent would probably be necessary to stop me. Maybe even more than one, depending on their abilities._ She heard approaching footsteps and she opened her eyes and stepped away from the pillar to see who it was.

A dark-haired young man, who was wearing a suit and looked to be in his early to mid-twenties, was now standing on the other side of the gate.

_He barely looks old enough to have a job like this,_ Cynthia thought, _But I probably fit that description, as well…_

"Hello," she said aloud, "Are you the one who's supposed to escort me in?"

"Yes," the young man answered. He was looking at Cynthia with a slightly odd expression on his face. Cynthia knew why, and she fought to keep herself from grinning. "I'm Agent John Myers, of the FBI," the young man added.

"Cynthia Livingstone. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Same here." Agent Myers smiled at her as he shook her hand through the bars of the gate, "Hang on a minute and I'll open the gate." He walked over to the side of the gate opposite from where the intercom was and did something that Cynthia couldn't see. The large gates swung open in a stately and slightly ominous way. Myers gestured for Cynthia to walk forward, and when she was safely through them he made them close again. They fell into step beside each other, heading for the odd building before them. After about a minute of silence, Cynthia decided to speak.

"So, Agent Myers--" she began, but her companion cut her off.

"Just… just Myers," he said almost apologetically, "Leave off the 'agent' part. Everyone here calls me just plain Myers, it's… it's the easiest." Cynthia couldn't help laughing at this.

"All right then," she chuckled, "Myers… what do you do around here? Anything of interest?" Myers smiled back, but his eyes looked a little wary of her question.

"Yes, but I probably shouldn't tell you about it until you've had a talk with Manning."

"Of course, I should have thought of that; I'm very sorry," Cynthia apologized. Then something dawned on her. "Is it all right if I ask who Manning is?" Myers smiled again, only this time it was entirely genuine.

"Sure Tom Manning is from the FBI, as am I, originally. He pretty much runs this place."

"I thought Professor Broom--, excuse me, I mean Bruttenholm—was in charge here." This comment earned Cynthia another strange look.

"Um, about that… I'd wait and talk to Manning if I were you," Myers answered in an odd tone. Cynthia nodded her agreement, but Myers' words gave her an odd feeling. She remembered the strange yet likeable Professor Broom with fondness, and hoped that nothing bad had happened to him.

They reached the building, and Myers led Cynthia to where a set of double doors, made of the same material as the building and with no handles, led inside. Cynthia could only tell the doors were there by the very fine cracks in the wall that indicated where the edges of them were. Myers pressed on a section of the wall to the right of the doors, causing part of the wall to flip around, revealing a panel similar to the hidden one at the front gates. He took something out of his jacket pocket and swiped it over the screen; there was a loud beep and the doors began to open inward. Myers ushered Cynthia through the doors and into a huge, high-ceilinged room with a highly polished floor. A large circle, probably four or five feet across, was in the center of the floor; in it was depicted an upraised hand grasping the hilt of a sword. Cynthia felt excited at the very sight of it, for it told her that she had indeed entered the headquarters of the BPRD.

A large raised desk sat imposingly at the opposite end of the room. Behind it sat an individual, male, who had an even more imposing expression. Cynthia wondered if this was the person she had spoken with over the intercom. Her suspicion was verified when the man asked, "Is this her?"

"Yes," Myers answered, "I'm going to take her down to Sector 51 so she can wait for Manning to arrive."

"Very well," the desk man said, "I'll let you in." Myers nodded and placed his hand on Cynthia's arm to guide her.

"Over here," he urged, gently tugging her towards the emblem in the floor. Cynthia stepped onto it beside him, curious about what would happen next. Professor Broom had told her about some things, but not this. The man behind the desk did something, and Cynthia felt the ground under her begin to move. She looked down, surprised.

The circular emblem was lowering into the ground. Cynthia watched as the surface of the floor grew closer and closer, and then as it passed by her. She and Myers went down for perhaps ten feet before it began to open up around their feet. Cynthia resisted the urge to bend down and look around before her body was fully out into the open. As soon as she could she, however, she gasped at their new surroundings. The lift they were on descended down the wall of a high-ceilinged intersection of three corridors. Slightly off to one side, a pair of extremely large, intricately carved metal doors was set into one of the other walls. A large number 51 adorned the wall near them. When the lift finally reached the ground, where several large clamps secured it there, Myers stepped off and said, "We're almost there, Miss Livingstone."

"Cynthia," she corrected him, stepping off the lift after him, "Please call me Cynthia."

"As you like," Myers answered, a grin flitting across his face. He gestured for her to follow him.

Cynthia was hoping that they would go through the mysterious-looking metal doors, but to her slight disappointment Myers led her down one of the corridors. He stopped before a door on the left side and took the thing out of his pocket again. He waved it in front of a screen similar to the ones before that was set into the door, and the door swung open. Cynthia followed him in to find that the room was a conference room, and a perfectly commonplace one, at that.

"You'll have to wait here, I'm afraid," he said, "Manning had to be sent for, and so he probably won't be here for a little while. I wish I could put you somewhere more interesting, but this will have to do."

"I'll be fine," Cynthia assured him, but she was wondering exactly how long a "little while" was. "Thank you, Myers."

"You're welcome, Miss—I'm sorry; Cynthia," Myers answered, barely catching himself on her name. "I'll most likely see you later. Good luck!" He exited the room.

"Good luck?" Cynthia murmured, "That sounds… dangerous."

BPRDBPRDBPRD

A "little while" turned out to be nearly an hour. There was absolutely nothing interesting in the conference room, unless one was fascinated by chairs and tables, and therefore Cynthia became bored very quickly. She did her best not to fidget, however, lacing her fingers together and placing them on her knees. But just when she'd reached the point where she thought she might be forced to scream from boredom, she heard footsteps approaching the door. She got to her feet just as three men entered the room.

The first man was Myers, and he gave her a sympathetic look, as if apologizing for her long wait. The second man seemed to be just another agent; as soon as he got through the door he took up a position beside it. The third man was middle-aged and balding slightly, his demeanor was very stiff and military-like. Cynthia guessed that this was Manning, and wondered yet again where the kind Professor Broom was.

"I'm Tom Manning," the middle-aged man said by way of a greeting. He did not offer to shake Cynthia's hand.

"I'm Cynthia Livingstone," Cynthia answered, wondering how many more times that day she would have to introduce herself.

"I know," Manning said impatiently, sitting down, "Please have a seat."

"May I ask where Professor Bruttenholm is?" Cynthia asked, doing as she had been instructed.

"Why don't you answer a few of my questions first, and then we'll see about yours?" Manning retorted, clearly leaving no other choice for Cynthia. She sighed; then forced a smile onto her face. She knew that this was going to take some time.

"I would be pleased to answer any questions you might have, Mr. Manning."

* * *

I did my best to make Cynthia's arrival and entrance logical. I didn't want it to be like, "Oh, yeah, they just let anyone in there! Piece o' cake!" I hope that I succeeded in this.

Please review! I gave you the option of doing it for the prologue, but if you didn't do it then, please do it now! (And if you did do it then, then please do it again…) Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter Two: A Curious Interview

Hello!!!! I'm so terribly sorry for not updating this sooner; I've had the chapter (and in fact one-and-a-half chapters after this one) written for ages, but I could never get myself around to updating. Hopefully I'll get reviews for this chapter, and that will, I assure you, motivate me! So please do review.

This chapter picks up directly after the last one left off, so you may want to go back and read the previous chapter. Cynthia's abilities will be explained in this chapter! She will also get to meet a few people, including…. Well, just read and find out! Just a reminder: this story is based solely on the movies! I've only ever read like one of the comics.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy. Not the character, the comic, or the movies. I do, however, own Cynthia. Sort of….

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Chapter Two: A Curious Interview

"When did you meet Professor Bruttenholm?" Cynthia was a little surprised by Manning's first question, but she answered readily.

"It's been nearly two months ago, now."

"Under what circumstances did you meet him?"

"He was the one who discovered me, actually. I don't know how he found me or discovered what I am capable of, but he came and visited me to ask if I…"

"If you what?"

"If I'd be interested in becoming an agent for the Bureau."

At Cynthia's answer, Manning's expression underwent a most interesting transformation. He suddenly looked most annoyed.

"I had no knowledge of this!" he said loudly, "He circumvented my authority!"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Cynthia said soothingly, but inside she was grinning at Broom's daring. Manning got himself back under control and went on with his questioning.

"Why did he think you would make a good agent?"

"Well, firstly because he said they really needed another one." Cynthia paused to watch Manning twitch.

"Go on," he growled after a few seconds.

"Secondly because I'm a linguist, and he said that they didn't have one that was up to my caliber."

"A linguist?" Manning raised his eyebrows. "Why do we need one?" Cynthia grinned.

"I'm quite proficient, and Broom thought the Bureau would benefit from having my skills readily available."

"What sort of skills?" Manning pressed, looking more and more impatient.

"I can speak twelve languages." Cynthia enjoyed Manning's look of surprise. "I can read and write in all of them, as well as five others."

"There are other people who can do that," Manning protested, "Plenty in the FBI…."

"Yes, I'm sure there are," Cynthia went on, her smile growing wider, "But that isn't all. Those are only the human languages; I haven't even mentioned the non-human ones." Manning's eyes narrowed skeptically.

"Non-human?" he repeated.

"Yes. I speak, read, and write fifteen of those, and I read and write ten others."

"Really?" Manning was actually starting to look curious.

"Not to mention the fact that I am able to pick up dialects of the languages I speak merely by hearing them." Cynthia cocked her head. "I really do think that my talents would be of great use to your work here."

"Are there any other reasons besides these that Bruttenholm wanted you to come?" Manning asked, sounding annoyed again.

"There is one more reason," Cynthia acknowledged.

"And what might that be?" Manning looked as though he was silently popping a blood vessel. Cynthia decided to take pity on him and answer his question in a simple, straightforward manner.

"I can do this," she said, and raised her hand. A sudden flood of water poured out of her palm and onto the floor. Manning let out a shout, Myers gasped admiringly, and the other agent reached into his coat as though for a gun. Cynthia smiled. "It's just water," she said, "I'll get rid of it, if you like."

"I would!" Manning said loudly, holding his feet off the floor.

"Very well." Cynthia flicked her hand while concentrating hard, and the water vanished. "But that's not all," she added, raising her hand again.

"Why don't you just tell us what, instead of destroying the room?" Manning barked.

"I _didn't _destroy it; the water's all gone," Cynthia protested.

"It sure is," Myers put in with a grin.

"But, since you really want me to, I'll just tell you." Cynthia sighed before going on, "I can control air, as well." She saw Manning's unspoken question in his eyes and hastened to answer it before he could ask it. "And yes, that's all…. that's everything that I can control, anyway." She spoke her last words in an undertone, low enough that Manning couldn't catch them.

"How did you get this… ability?" Manning asked.

"I don't know. I've been able to do these things for as long as I can remember."

"How old are you?" Manning queried.

"26…. I think." Cynthia felt queasy, as she always did when she thought about the mystery of her past. "At least, that's as far back as I can remember, but I haven't aged since then, so I must be older than that. Maybe even a lot older…."

"What about…?" Manning asked cryptically, waving his hand in her general direction. Cynthia realized what he meant and grinned.

"It's normal for me," she explained, "I didn't do anything to it, that's just what it looks like."

"Hmmm…" Manning didn't sound convinced, but he went on with his questioning. "What did Professor Bruttenholm say to you when he met you?"

"Basically everything I've told you about his reasons for me coming here." Cynthia thought back to the odd conversation she'd had with Broom. "I said I'd think about his offer to come, and he told me a bit about the Bureau, so that if I decided to come I'd know where it was and some things about it. He said that if I came, he…." Cynthia swallowed. "He might be able to help me find out more about myself. He said I'd be well looked after, that I wouldn't feel so strange and alone anymore." Cynthia felt moisture building up in her eyes and hastily made the water go away. "Please, can I have my question answered now?" she asked, her voice sounding wobbly, "Where is Professor Broom?" There was a long pause before Manning answered.

"Bruttenholm is dead."

Cynthia felt her throat tighten, and, before she could stop it, a tear ran down her cheek. She had liked the professor very much; he had made her wonder if knowing him would be like having a father. Someone touched her shoulder, and she looked up to find that Myers was holding out a handkerchief to her. She took it gratefully and dried her eyes and face.

"I'm very sorry," she said, getting her emotions under control, "How did he die? And when?"

"About a month ago," Manning explained, "He was… killed." The pause before the final word told Cynthia that Broom's death hadn't been a quiet, pleasant affair. More tears brimmed in her eyes, but she swiftly blotted them away with Myers' handkerchief.

"That's…" Cynthia searched for the right words to say. "That's terribly sad," she said finally, "I… I'm not sure I'd like to hear who… or what… killed him. Not yet." Her nose felt runny; she sniffed to keep it from dripping. "Thank you," she added to Myers, holding out his handkerchief. He reached for it, but Cynthia thought of something. "Wait, hang on," she murmured, concentrating on the moisture in the hankie. She pulled the water out of it, leaving the piece of cloth perfectly dry. "Here," she said finally, putting it into Myers' hand. He felt it and gave her a wondering look. She smiled at him and held up her hand, showing him the drops of moisture from the hankie that still clung there. She flicked her hand, and, instead of flying everywhere, the water disappeared.

"All right," Manning said almost grudgingly, "I will allow you to stay here for a probationary period. If you wind up not being useful, you will have to leave."

"But… I can stay?" Cynthia was a little surprised at the usually stiff Manning's change in attitude.

"You may." Manning got an expression that could almost be called a smile. "Bruttenholm must've seen something in you, and he did have a few good ideas."

_And that's not condescending at __all__,_ Cynthia couldn't help thinking.

"However, it is imperative that you obey mu leadership," Manning went on pompously, I am in charge here, and my orders are to be carried out without… complaint."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Cynthia assured him.

"Good." Manning looked pleased at this. "Well, I suppose a good next step would be for you to meet the… others. I would like to see how well all of you interact."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Cynthia agreed calmly, but inside she was twitching with excitement. Meeting people who wouldn't find her abilities shocking or frightening was a dream for her, and from the little Broom had told her, these "others" would fit this category quite well.

"I'm glad you agree." Manning got to his feet and gestured for Cynthia to do the same. She stood and moved around the table towards him. "Now if you'll follow me," Manning directed, walking through the door, which the other agent was holding open. Cynthia and Myers followed him out.

Manning led them back to the intersection of the hallways. To Cynthia's delight, he went right up to the double doors made of carved metal. He opened the right-hand door and walked into the room beyond. Cynthia and Myers went after him, but the other agent remained outside. Cynthia only wondered about this for a moment before the extremely interesting room she had walked into captured her attention.

The room seemed to be a cross between a library and an old-fashioned study. A large fireplace, open on all four of its sides, dominated the scene. Beyond this lay a spiraling metal staircase which led to a second level. Bookshelves lined many of the walls, but the largest group ran around the curved sides of a slightly raised dais, off to Cynthia's left. A table sat in the middle of the dais, and it had books, diagrams, and other interesting-looking things on it; they were spread out as though they were regularly looked at and consulted. Cynthia, who loved books and studying, instantly felt at home in this room. Without even fully realizing it, she walked up to the bookshelves on the dais and began scanning the titles. She was so engrossed that she barely noticed anything else, even though she thought she heard someone say something behind her. It was only when someone tapped her on the arm that she whirled around.

It was Manning. He gave her an odd look, and Cynthia felt herself blush.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"It's all right," Manning said, but he didn't sound very forgiving. "I'm going to go and get the others. Please wait here." Without another word, he turned and walked towards the door, jerking his head for Myers to follow. Myers gave Cynthia a "I-know-he's-weird-but-just-try-to-deal-with-it" expression; then he left.

Cynthia sighed, looking more thoroughly around the room. It was exactly the sort of room she wouldn't mind spending forever in, so the prospect of being alone in it for a while didn't bother her in the least. As she looked, Cynthia realized that there was an odd component of the room that she hadn't noticed before: the wall beneath the second level was glass, divided only by metal supports, and behind it lay a sort of giant tank filled with water. It looked empty to Cynthia, but she still moved towards it to investigate. Any time she saw water, she had to examine it; it was a strange compulsion, but Cynthia couldn't find harm in it. When she reached the wall of glass, Cynthia raised her hand and placed it on the glass. Almost without noticing what she was doing, she began to create currants in the water, making swirling patterns of bubbles. Her eyes became unfocused, and she stood there zoning until, quite suddenly, a large shape swooped directly in front of her on the other side of the glass. Cynthia gasped in surprise and took a quick step back, removing her hand from the glass.

Now that Cynthia was looking, she saw that the large shape was in fact a man…. though he definitely wasn't human. He had almost aqua-colored skin, with line-like markings in a much darker blue. His eyes were large, angled, and blue in color, with very large dark pupils that covered most of his eyes. He had a very flat nose, thin lips on a small mouth, and no immediately discernable ears. He also had no hair. Cynthia realized with some astonishment that he had gills, and that his hands, one of which was placed against the glass, were webbed to about halfway up his fingers. His bare feet were likewise webbed. He was wearing what looked like Spandex swimming trunks that reached to his knees; the rest of him was uncovered.

"Did I startle you?" the man asked in a pleasant-sounding, lightly tenor voice. Cynthia noted that his voice didn't sound entirely human, either, but she guessed that this was because he was speaking through water.

"A little," she admitted, then, "Who are you?" she asked in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. The man's expression became amused.

"Shouldn't _I_ be the one asking _you_ that?" he countered. Cynthia grinned; then remembered what she'd done.

"Oh!" she cried, upset, "I forgot, I was playing with the water… I'm sorry." She glanced down for a moment; then looked back up at the man. "But… who _are_ you?" she asked again, "And… um… if it's not too rude to ask… _what_ are you?" The man chuckled at this.

"Even I'm not entirely sure," he told her, "all we have to go on is the sign… here, I'll come out and show you." He started to swim away from her.

"You can come out?" Cynthia called after him. The man stopped and turned back to face her.

"Of course." He tilted his head. "If this," he gestured around him, "was the only place I could be, I'd want it to be a little bigger and more interesting, wouldn't you?" Cynthia laughed and nodded, and the man resumed swimming. He suddenly vanished from Cynthia's view, and she wondered where he'd gone. About a minute later, however, the man came walking down the spiral staircase, a towel clapped in one webbed hand.

"How did you…" Cynthia started.

"Get out?" the man finished her question before answering, "There's an entrance to the tank up there; I merely climbed out and," he held up the towel, "dried off a bit." He stopped his approach about a yard away from her.

Now that he was out of the tank and standing beside Cynthia, she realized that the man was at least eight inches taller than her, which was a little surprising to her since, at 5'7", she was over the average height for women by quite a bit. She clasped her hands behind her back, feeling slightly shy talking to someone whose name she didn't even know.

"Um…" she said a little nervously, "Where's that sign you mentioned?"

"Sign?" the man blinked, his eyelids flicking almost imperceptibly fast across his eyes; then raised his hand in an "aha!" motion. "Ah, yes, the sign. It's over here…" He gestured towards one of the metal supports embedded in the glass of the tank, where a small piece of paper was hanging. Cynthia stepped closer to read it. It only had to words on it, written in messily flowing handwriting: Ichthyo sapien. Another sign hung directly below it, but the only thing it said was April 14, 1865. Cynthia considered the words for a few seconds; then looked up at the man.

"Ichthyo sapien, eh?" she said, "That doesn't sound entirely correct to me."

"Why not?" the man asked, cocking his head and looking amused again.

"Well…" Cynthia stopped herself. "You won't be…. offended or anything, will you?" she asked anxiously. The man shook his head, still looking amused. "Well, 'ichthyo' is a combining form based on the Greek word 'ichthys', which means 'fish,' and um… you don't seem exactly fishy to me."

"I don't?" Now the man looked surprised.

"No." Cynthia looked carefully at him before repeating, "No, you're definitely not 'ichthyo.'"

"How can you tell?" The amusement was back.

"Well, for one thing, you don't have any scales that I can see." Cynthia started to walk slowly around the man, examining him carefully while still attempting to remain polite. The man followed her progress with his eyes and head. "Second, you can breathe both in water and on land, which fish cannot do. Thirdly, your webbing isn't like a fish's ." Cynthia added this last fact when she noticed that the man had a thin layer of webbing that loosely connected his upper arms to his torso. She realized she was staring at him intently and looked away. "I'm sorry, I'm being terribly rude," she murmured.

"Not at all," the man answered, "I find it quite interesting when people try to define my species." Cynthia let out a sort of laughing groan.

"Ah, that makes it sound really awful, what I'm doing," she commented, "Now I feel even worse…"

"Don't feel bad," the man told her, "Please, go on." Cynthia sighed, attempting to keep herself calm, before continuing.

"Where was I?" she said a little awkwardly, but then she remembered. "Oh, yes, your... um... webbing. It's not really fish-like. All together, these points seem to indicate that 'ichthyo' is the wrong term to use."

"What would you suggest as a better one?" the man asked. Cynthia felt a tiny bit more confident for a moment, for she had reached the point in her analysis where her study of languages would help her make her ideas clear.

"I believe that 'amphibia' would be a better choice," she stated, "For amphibian, you know," she added, "They have skin, not scales, and they are able to breathe in both water and air." Cynthia could feel that her face was growing warm and that she was speaking faster and faster, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to slow herself back down very easily.

"And the webbing is different?" the man put in.

"Yes." Cynthia almost had to force herself to continue breathing normally. "But, on the other hand, "ichthyo sapien' sounds much better than 'amphibia sapien,' so that may be why someone chose it."

"Because aesthetics are always important in such cases," the man said solemnly, though Cynthia could tell he was amused again. She wondered how she knew this, for he wasn't smiling.

_He probably __can't__ smile,_ she thought, _But something about him... his eyes, or the way he's standing... I can tell what he's feeling. _She realized that she was staring at him again hastily turned her head away. She felt terribly embarrassed, and knew from experience that if she didn't move to a different location in the room within the next few seconds, she would probably come very close to fainting. To her intense relief, she heard the sounds of several people approaching the metal doors.

"Um, excuse me," she mumbled, "I'm just going to... to open the door." Before the man could say anything, Cynthia darted around him to the doors. She was just reaching for the handle of the door on her left when it burst open. It flew open towards her so hard and fast that if Cynthia hadn't jumped back as quickly as she possibly could, the door would've flattened her against, and perhaps into, the wall behind it. Cynthia barely stopped herself from screaming as she stumbled back, but a sort of strangled yelp still escaped her. She gave her body a mental once-over to make sure she was all still there; then looked at the person standing in the doorway.

The person was another man, and, like the first, his appearance was very striking. This man was likewise quite tall, Cynthia guessed about 6'5', and his skin was a dark and yet bright red. He had black hair; that on his head started at about the crown of his head and was pulled into a strange sort of ponytail, and the hair on his face was trimmed into a beard and sideburns. He had what looked like horns that had been cut or sanded off on his broad forehead, and his eyes were an interesting yellowish-red. He also seemed to have a tail. While most of his general anatomy looked human, his right hand and forearm stood out as uniquely different: they were overlarge, even for this large man, and they looked as though they were made of stone. The man was wearing black pants, boots, and an enormous brown trench coat with no shirt underneath, leaving his heavily muscled red chest bare.

"Red!" a woman's voice cried in annoyance, "If you keep opening the door like that, you're gonna wind up breaking something!" A woman stepped around the red man into the room. She looked about Cynthia's own age, and she seemed to be close to the same height as Cynthia, as well. She had black hair cut in an A-line style, black eyes, and pale skin. She was dressed all in black, with a necklace bearing a large cross pendant as her only adornment. She appeared to be a normal human woman, but, as she glared at the red man, balls of fire appeared around her hands.

"Or some_one_, as it nearly was in this case," the man with whom Cynthia had originally been talking added, "That was a near thing, Red."

"Geez," the red man said in a deep, slightly grating voice, "You two are never gonna let up on how I open that door, are ya?" Then, for the first time, it seemed, he noticed Cynthia. "Who're you?" he asked sharply.

"This is the person I want you to meet," Manning's voice said in an irritated way. The rest of him became evident when he walked around the red man and into the room to stand beside Cynthia. He put his hands on Cynthia's shoulders and announced, "This is, at least for now, a new member of your team: Cynthia Livingston."

* * *

Another abrupt ending! Once again, the next chapter will pick up exactly where this one leaves off, so when it gets posted (which I hope will be very soon), you'll get to find out what happens immediately after this.

Just so you know, in case you were getting worried, Cynthia is NOT a Mary Sue character! She may have powers and she may be able to speak 27 languages, but she has had (and in fact is still going to have...) a lot of bad things happen to her. And besides, most of the other characters have powers, and there are many linguists who can speak over 100 languages! So don't worry.

If you have any questions about how the story is going or about Cynthia, please ask by means of reviewing. In fact, please review even if you don't! I love reviews, and, as I mentioned at the beginning of the chapter, they help me to write and update more quickly.

Thank you very much for reading!


	4. Chapter Three: Meet The Gang

Hello, everyone! I am very pleased to bring you the next chapter in this story. It's been a while, though not nearly as long as the last interval between posts! I know I've had some people eagerly awaiting this, so it makes me happy knowing I'm making other people happy! (laugh)

Thank you very much to all those who reviewed, particularly TheVooDooFish, whose wonderful story, Fears and Hearts, should be read by all fans of this story! It's incredible!!! I highly recommend it. I also ask that you will review this chapter when you have finished reading it!

To fantasyaddict101 (and all others who have been thinking this but not telling me): I know this story hasn't really got a plot yet, but please hang in there and continue reading! This entire part is just set-up. I know it's taking a while, but that has more to do with my failure to update and continue writing than with the actual story! The main plot will begin in a few more chapters; I just really want all of you top get to know Cynthia well before then. Speaking of which, since there will be a very in-depth physical description of her in this chapter. There are two reasons for this, one of which is that I want all of you to be able to picture her clearly. I will most likely change my profile picture to a picture of her, either one that I've found or the one TheVooDooFish has promised to draw for me! (Did I mention how good her story is?) That is the other reason, in case you were wondering....

Anyway, now that that's out of the way, let's get to the story! Please enjoy, or at least try to... ^-^ By the way, it starts exactly where the last chapter left off, so you might want to go back and read the end of the last one.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy or any of the characters from it. Abe would be fun to own, though.... too bad....

* * *

Chapter Three: Meet The Gang

"You've gotta be kidding me." The huge red man whose name Cynthia didn't know folded his arms, one human-looking, the hand and forearm of the other appearing to be made of stone, across his broad chest. "This is who you dragged us here to meet?"

"Be nice!" the black-haired woman snapped at him. She elbowed him hard in the chest; Cynthia noticed that balls of fire still surrounded both of the woman's hands.

"One of these days I'll have to help you learn correct social behavior," the man will blue skin and gills, with whom Cynthia had originally been talking before this interesting interruption, sighed from behind Cynthia. He walked up to stand beside her. "And you shouldn't assume things about people; she's quite kind, and very intelligent." Cynthia felt herself blush at these compliments.

"Yeah, Red, if we went by what you look like, nobody would ever get anywhere near you," the woman put in, "So even if she does have dyed blue hair, you can't assume anything about her personality."

"It isn't dyed," Cynthia said quietly. Everyone turned to look at her, including Manning, who had been attempting to interrupt the conversation. "And I prefer to call it aqua, not just plain blue."

"No matter what you call it, it's still pretty much blue," the red man said, clearly trying not to laugh. This remark earned him another jab in the ribs fro the black-haired woman.

"Am I correct in noticing that it's darker in the front?" the blue-skinned man asked.

"Yes, it gets lighter the farther back it gets on my head." Cynthia felt very uncomfortable having this much attention focused on her, but she also couldn't help noticing the humor in the situation. "I think it's funny that all of you find my appearance odd when your own appearances must also generally be categorized as.... unique."

"Hey!" the red man said loudly, pointing a finger of his stone hand at her, "Who're you calling unique?"

"Settle down, everyone!" Manning commanded, sounding like a pompous schoolteacher, "I need to make the proper introductions." He turned to face the black-haired woman. "Starting with you."

"Ooh, lucky me," the woman said sarcastically, but she moved a little closer to Cynthia so that they were facing each other.

"This," Manning said, indicating the black-haired woman, "is Elizabeth Sherman. As you may have noticed," his expression became a little disgruntled, "she is what we call 'pyrokinetic,' meaning she-"

"Can move or control fire, yes," Cynthia finished for him. She held out her hand to shake the woman's. The woman put out her hand; then seemed to notice for the first time that they were still surrounded by fire.

"Sorry," she muttered, and the flames vanished. She and Cynthia shook hands. "Call me Liz; it's what I like," the woman added.

"Sure," Cynthia answered with a little smile.

"Next," Manning went on, turning Cynthia so that she faced the blue-skinned man, "we have Abraham Sapien." The man flinched slightly when his name was said, but his overall expression remained pleasant. "He is the academic member of the team, so you will probably do quite a bit of work together."

"I look forward to it," Cynthia murmured, holding out her hand for him to shake. He looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Ah, about that..." he said, gesturing gracefully at her hand, "I'd... I'd rather not shake hands with you, if you don't mind. Not because of anything you've done," he explained hastily, "It's just... I have empathic and psychometric abilities, and I read things through my hands."

"Oh!" Cynthia swiftly withdrew her hand. "It's all right, I understand perfectly."

"You do?" The man looked surprised. "Most people don't know what either of those mean." Cynthia grinned.

"Being empathic means that you can sense emotions and some thoughts from others," she stated, "And psychometry is the ability to touch an object or person and... well, read information about it or them. Where it's been, what's happened to it, that sort of thing."

"Oh, no; a little Blue," the red man groaned behind her.

"Shh!" Liz hissed at him.

"Anyway, it's a pleasure to meet you, Abraham," Cynthia concluded. After a second, she asked, "Or would you prefer being called... um, your last name?" He winced again.

"Please, call me Abe," he said hurriedly, "I don't like my full name much, but I rather like the nickname."

"All right." Cynthia grinned again. "But I was going to suggest your first and last name for your revised species name..."

"Let's not and say we did," Abe suggested with an only partially faked shudder. Cynthia laughed and nodded.

"And finally," Manning interrupted, now looking extremely annoyed, "The final member of the team is-"

"Me," the red man finished, coming up behind Cynthia. She turned to face him.

"This is..." Manning paused before saying the name. "....Hellboy." Cynthia's eyes widened. She knew the name well, but not just from the media.

"I thought you might be," she said softly, putting out her hand for the third time in as many minutes. Hellboy paused before grabbing and shaking her hand with his stone one. Cynthia knew that she had rather large hands with long fingers, but her hand was engulfed by Hellboy's. "Professor Broom mentioned you to me," she added when she'd got her hand back. Hellboy's eyebrows went up.

"You... you knew Father?" he asked, sounding a bit disbelieving. Cynthia smiled.

"Yes, I met him. That's how I'm able to be here now; he asked me to come." Hellboy gave her an appraising look; then seemed to relax slightly.

"You might actually be ok, then," he said rather gruffly, "I thought he'd brought you." He jerked his thumb at Manning, who swelled and spluttered in indignation. Cynthia laughed aloud.

"Well, technically I brought myself, but I wouldn't have known about this place if Broom hadn't come to see me." She suddenly remembered that Broom was dead, and that he and Hellboy had been extremely close, like father and son. Her throat felt tight again. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss, " she said in a near whisper, "I liked Professor Broom very much, even though I only met him once." She swallowed hard. "You were with him all the time, so I don't even think I can imagine how you must be feeling."

There was a very awkward silence after this statement of Cynthia's. Eventually, Manning, the ever-obnoxious, broke it.

"Well, now that you've all met each other, I think we should give Miss Livingston a tour, don't you?" He rubbed his hands together, as though he was expecting a huge cheer of assent. No one answered, and the smile slid off Manning's face. Just when Cynthia was getting light-headed from the tension, Myers walked into the room. He looked around at all of their solemn faces.

"Great party," he commented, grinning, "Mind if I join in?" Cynthia couldn't help laughing, Liz let out a little snort, Abe's eyes lit up with amusement, and even Hellboy grinned, revealing extremely large, white teeth. Only Manning still looked unhappy, but then he always did.

"Sure, Myers," Hellboy clapped his human hand onto Myer's shoulder. "Bring us a can of those little sausage thingies and a box of Kleenex to wipe off our tears, and we'll be all set."

"I'm fresh out of Vienna sausages, but I think I can find the Kleenex," Myers said with a straight face and an innocent tone. Cynthia covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing louder.

"What about the tour?" Manning's voice reminded Cynthia of a glacier: it was cold and you couldn't get rid of it.

"I would be interested in seeing the rest of this place," she answered calmly.

"I could come along, if you would like," Abe suggested.

"We'll all go," Liz stated, "Right?" She looked pointedly at Hellboy. He shrugged.

"Why not?" he said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone, "There's nothing on TV."

"Very well," Manning said, disgruntled as usual, "Myers, I'd like you to lead this tour; I have paperwork to fill out for Miss Livingston." He turned and stalked out of the room. As soon as he was out of earshot, Cynthia asked something she'd been wanting to know for a while.

"Had he always acted as though he had something shoved in one of his orifices, or did one of you cause that behavior?" This brought smiles out of more than one person; Hellboy in particular grinned broadly.

"Nah, Manning's always been like that," he explained. His grin, if possible, grew wider. "I just like to help him shove it higher."

"Yeah, sometimes you help a little too much," Liz pointed out. "Not that he doesn't deserve it," she added, "He's so... oh, what's the word..."

"Cynical?" Abe prompted, "Overbearing? Pompous?"

"Hmmm..." Liz thought for a moment. "Well, all of those work, i guess, but I was kinda thinking of just plain 'annoying.'" Everyone,. even Myers, nodded their agreement.

"Should we get going?" Cynthia asked.

"Whatever you'd like," Myers answered, "You're the new one around here. Right this way," he added with a little smirk, gesturing for her to walk with him through the door. The others followed after.

BPRDBPRDBPRDBPRD

Nearly an hour later, Cynthia found herself walking back towards what she called "the study", her head awhirl with all of the things she had seen.

_"This place is bigger than it looks on the outside," _she thought, _"Much, __much__ bigger...."_

"That's pretty much it," Myers was saying, "There's a few storerooms we skipped, and all the private quarters, of course, but I think we covered everything else."

"I know I haven't been a lot of those places," Liz commented. She was walking on Cynthia's left. "I mean, a swimming pool? Why do we even need one?"

"I didn't know about that, either," Abe said from Cynthia's right, "I suppose the agents originally from the FBI use it for training; swimming is very good exercise, you know."

"Yeah, you would know," Hellboy called to him from the other side of Liz.

"Aaaanyway," Myers cut back in, "We'll have to arrange quarters for you, Cynthia, and I'll see if I can find someone to do the training for the physical side of your.... um, new job."

"Thank you, Myers," Cynthia said gratefully, "I appreciate it." Myers shook him head, looking embarrassed.

"It's not a problem," he said hurriedly,"Don't worry about it."

"I have a question," Liz said suddenly, "I've been trying to figure it out, but I haven't been able to.... What exactly are you going to do around here? Or maybe I should put it this way: what can you do?"

"You mean, what are the abilities I possess that sat me apart from others?" Cynthia clarified.

"Yeah, exactly."

"I've been trying to figure that out, too," Hellboy growled. He gave Cynthia a slightly suspicious look over Liz's head. "Cuz, if you don't mind me sayin', the only weird thing I've seen about you is your hair."

"I've seen more," Abe put in, raising his right hand slightly. It fell back to his side as he muttered, "Wait, I didn't word that quite right..." Cynthia snickered to herself. "What i mean is, I've seen what she can do."

"That wasn't everything I can do," Cynthia said, shaking her head, "In fact, that was me just playing around. I can do much more than that."

"And I've seen that?" Myers asked. Cynthia shook her head again, a smile quirking her lips upward.

"No, that wasn't much, either." She stopped, looking around her. They were in a wide, open corridor, and no-one else was about. The others stopped, as well, curious about her actions. "Here, I can show you a little more," Cynthia said, raising her right hand, "I promise not to break anything..." And suddenly, at her silent command, a wall of water, nearly as tall as the corridor, came rushing at them from the other end of the hall. It wasn't touching the walls or the ceiling, only the floor. All of her companions cried out, and she saw them brace themselves for the impact of this great torrent, but, on another silent command on her part, the wave vanished just before it reached them. There was no sign it had ever been there; the floor was perfectly dry. "And then there's this," Cynthia added, raising her hand again. At this movement, she and her companions were caught in a furiously strong wind, hard enough to make all of them, except her, stagger, but it didn't seem to be affecting any other part of the corridor. After maybe ten seconds, Cynthia stopped the wind. Silence followed. It was nearly fifteen seconds later that Hellboy spoke.

"Wow," he said, obviously impressed, "That wind'll come in handy."

"And the water," Abe added, "That much at once can be very.... overpowering, to say the least."

"Makes you wish we'd had her around when we were dealing with Rasputin's gang," Liz murmured, "I'm still not sure I got all of those hell-hound things."

"Don't say that," Hellboy said with the tiniest of shudders, "That's the last thing we need: a reunion with Sammael!"

"Sammael..." Cynthia repeated, wondering why the name sounded familiar to her. Had she read it somewhere...?

"Long story," Hellboy stated shortly, "Don't ask."

"So is that everything you can do, or is there anything more?" Myers asked, sounding a little guarded.

"I can change the temperature of the water and air and the amount and strength of them, but that's about it," Cynthia answered. She paused before adding slowly, "There is something else, but it isn't something I can control. It's... it's more like something that happens to me, rather than something I do to it."

"What is it?" Abe asked, looking interested. Cynthia glanced around uneasily.

"I'd rather not show you here; it's too.... open. But if we go back to that first room we were in, I wouldn't mind demonstrating."

"Let's go, then," Liz prompted, "You've got me curious."

"Yeah," Hellboy added, "You might be as weird as us, after all." Cynthia laughed.

"Actually, I'm probably stranger… but let's not talk about that now." Cynthia felt the usual surge of strange sensations flow over her as she thought, or tried to think, about her past. "How far is that room from here?"

"Not far. The main junction's just ahead," Myers answered, pointing ahead to where the passage grew wider and taller. His tone was still guarded; Cynthia wondered if she had put him on edge by demonstrating her abilities.

"_I wonder if he's still adjusting to the strangeness of this place,"_ she thought, _"It must take a lot of getting used to for someone normal… someone like him, I should say."_

"All right," she said aloud, trying her best to sound as though she hadn't noticed Myer's edginess, "Let's go." She started walking towards the junction, and the others moved to follow her. She had a feeling that they were all looking at her; though with curiosity, not fear.

"_I can't really blame them,"_ Cynthia thought, walking slightly faster, _"Especially since I'd very much like to do the same to them…"_

Cynthia stepped out of the corridor into the wide open space of the main junction. The now-familiar metal doors were off to her left; Cynthia walked swiftly across to them. She put out her hand to open one of the doors, but stopped herself just before she touched it.

"What's wrong?" both Abe and Myers asked from right behind her. Cynthia jumped slightly and drew her hand back, glancing over her shoulder as she did so.

"Um, nothing," she murmured, "It… it just has to do with the thing I'm going to show you."

"What, you can't open doors?" Hellboy said sarcastically, "That'll get old fast."

"No, that's not it," Cynthia said hastily, her voice even quieter than before, "It's… um… "She glanced at the doors. "Could… could someone…?" she whispered, gesturing at them. Liz brushed past her and pushed the left-hand door open. Cynthia nodded her thanks; then walked though the door and down the shallow steps to the main floor of the room. The others filed in, and when Liz, the last one, stepped onto the main level, Cynthia cleared her throat softly before she spoke.

"All right," Cynthia said slightly nervously, "Um…" She glanced around the room, looking for something she could demonstrate with. When she didn't see anything, she asked, "Do any of you have something small and made of metal?"

"My necklace," Liz suggested after a few moments of silence had passed.

"That would work well," Cynthia answered, looking at the cross pendant and the metal band that served as a chain. Liz reached up to remove it and, after a few seconds, held it out to Cynthia. "Uh, not the chain part," Cynthia said hurriedly, "Chains are… dangerous." Liz gave Cynthia an odd look, but she slid the pendant off the band.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you. But I think I'd better explain this a little more before I take that." Cynthia took a deep breath before stating, "Metal… likes me."

There was a fairly long pause while all of them thought the over. Then,

"It likes you?" Hellboy repeated her words incredulously.

"Do you mean it has a magnetic attraction to you?" Abe queried.

"No, not really." Cynthia shook her head. "It… well, it likes me. Here, let me show you…" She held out her left hand for Liz to give her the pendant.

"Do you want to take your glove off first?" Liz asked. Cynthia looked at her hand. Sure enough, her glove was there, just as she had put it on that morning.

"Oh, I forgot," she said, "I guess it's just such a habit to have them on, I didn't notice…" She slid her hand out of the glove; then presented her bare palm to Liz. "Watch," she instructed, and then Liz placed the pendant on her hand.

The pendant lay on Cynthia's palm, unmoving and perfectly normal-looking. But only for a second. Then it began to wiggle, as though it was trying to embed itself into Cynthia's hand. When that didn't work, it started to slide around her hand from front to back. Everyone watched as it clung to the underside of Cynthia's hand, defying gravity. It slid back up to her palm around the other side of her hand; then, quite suddenly, it started moving determinedly towards her wrist.

"Get it off!" Cynthia cried, "Quick!" Abe's hand darted out and grabbed the pendant just before it went up her sleeve. He examined it, looking fascinated.

"How was it able to do that?" he asked.

"I told you," Cynthia answered, "Metal likes me. It.... it loves me. It can't get enough of me. I don't know why, but it's always been like that." She glanced at Liz, grinning slightly. "Now you know why I said chains are dangerous."

"Yeah, they probably try to love you to death," Hellboy snickered. Cynthia laughed too, pleased that he had given such a serious idea a humorous twist.

"A very apt description," she replied when she'd finished laughing, "I'm just glad I haven't met my metal true love yet."

"Does the metal only like your outer skin, or does it try to go in your mouth or nose?" Abe queried, sounding curious yet grossed out at his daring to ask. Cynthia grimaced.

"Well, I really try not to let it get that far," she explained, "But the few times it has, that hasn't been its destination. It always winds up going for my neck... or as close to my heart as it can get."

"So is that what the gloves are for, to keep metal from getting on your hands?" Liz asked.

"No." Cynthia pulled up her right sleeve to display the glove on that hand; then pulled on her left-hand glove and tugged that sleeve up as well. The gloves were different from each other; the left one came up to her elbow and was fingerless, the right one reached about halfway up her forearm and had half fingers. Both, however, were black and made of a very fine leather. "I wear these," Cynthia raised her hands, "because my hands get very cold when i manipulate water and air. They don't really help much with the metal because my fingers are still exposed."

"Why don't you wear gloves with fingers then?" Myers said, the first noise he'd made in a while. Cynthia shrugged.

"I like to be able to move my hands well," she answered, "Full gloves get annoying." As if summoned by the word that best described him, the doors swung open and Manning strode into the room. Cynthia jumped slightly, and she was fairly sure that the others did, too.

"Oh, here you are," Manning said. He sounded slightly more pleasant than he had earlier, which surprised Cynthia.

_"Maybe he's not as bad as I thought," _Cynthia thought, _"Maybe he's just, oh, overworked or something..."_

"Did you actually go anywhere, or did you just stand there the whole time?" Manning went on.

_"I take it back...."_

"The tour went quite well," Cynthia said aloud, "I enjoyed it very much."

"Good." Manning got a little smirk. "Good. Now that that's over with, you can fill out the paperwork I've designed for you."

_"Can he get any __worse__?"_

"As you wish," Cynthia answered, walking over to him. Manning nodded his approval of her obedience; then opened the doors again and walked out. Cynthia turned back and gave her new companions a smile and an ironic salute; then followed Manning out.

BPRDBPRDBPRDBPRD

It was nearly four hours after she had left the study that Cynthia found herself sitting on the end of the bed in her new quarters, staring tiredly around her. The room, which had been assigned to her, was about 12 feet my 15 feet, and it contained a double bed, a chest of drawers a small desk, an even smaller table, a single rickety-looking chair, and two plain floor lamps. Altogether, it reminded Cynthia very strongly of a rather small, cramped hotel room.

_"maybe they'll let me bring in the furniture from my apartment,"_ Cynthia thought, _"If I'm allowed to stay, that is..."_

The paperwork she had filled out with Manning had been extremely complicated. She had wound up having to give Manning a lot more of her backstory, which she had disliked. She didn't enjoy knowing her own backstory much, the little that she did know, but she liked divulging it even less. All of this intense thought and uncomfortable sharing had led to Cynthia's current state, which was exhausted. It took her a long time to convince herself to get up and explore the bath part of her room.

The bathroom was exactly like the rest of the room in that it made Cynthia think of an extremely plain hotel room bathroom. It contained a sink, a toilet, a mirror, and a wall cabinet. There wasn't a tub or a shower; the only showers in the entire complex were the ones by the gym and they were used by everyone. However, Cynthia knew from experience that, because of her abilities with water, she could take a shower anywhere she wanted. She was about to go back into the main room when something caught her eye. She turned to see what it was.

It wound up being her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Cynthia nearly dismissed it, but then she decided to take a closer look. She didn't often examine herself, so it was almost as if she was looking carefully at a person she barely knew. She cataloged her appearance systematically: Aqua-blue hair that got lighter as it moved back on her head, so that it was dark cerulean in the front and light, almost silvery-blue in the back. It was parted down the middle and it reached to the small of her back, but the two darkest pieces in the front were cut to a few inches below her collarbones. The eyes – _"My eyes,"_ Cynthia reminded herself-- were a light green-blue, surrounded by long black lashes. Her eyebrows were black, as well, which contrasted strongly with the other hair on her head. Her skin was so pale and translucent that the veins showed though, giving it a slight bluish tint. Her face was a carefully balanced equation of angles and curves; the rather long nose was evened out by the slightly full lips, the high cheekbones and pointed chin were kept under control by the delicate almond-shaped eyes.

_"I wonder if this is how others see me,"_ Cynthia thought, _"Or do they only think of me as a weird girl with blue hair?"_

_"The people you met today see more," _another part of her answered, _"They didn't think you were all that odd." _This though made Cynthia smile, the barest quirk of one corner of her mouth, and continue her examination. She was fairly tall and rather slim. Her body also contained the angle and curve equation; the overall form was streamlined, but the feminine shapes weren't entirely lost. She had large hands with long fingers, and average-sized feet....

"Nothing mush to look at," Cynthia said aloud, stepping back and away from the mirror. _"No need to scrutinize myself that much, especially since no-one else does," _she added in a thought, _"They see the hair and go no further."_ Suddenly feeling overwhelmingly worn out, Cynthia left the bathroom and collapsed onto the bed. She pulled her boots off; then curled up on her left side, pulling a pillow under her head. She debated getting back up turn off the lamps, but she drifted off to sleep before she could do so....

* * *

I hope that was interesting and fun for you to read! It kinda wanders around as far as plot, but I promise this will not be the case in most later chapters! Please review, and continue to read this story. Thank you for reading!


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